


Aquarius

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Canon Era, Indulgent, M/M, Melancholy, Naiad Merlin, Waterlilies, Whimsical, hopeful, sorta - Freeform, water nymphs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Prince Arthur encounters a Naiad, it forces him to question his assumptions about magical creatures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aquarius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merlocked18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlocked18/gifts).



> For Merlocked18, who requested a drabble. I'm sorry Merls, I can't drabble to save my life. Have a ficlet instead :)

The air shimmered, thick with heat and the scent of waterlilies.

Weary, Prince Arthur dropped his pack by the stream. He toed off his boots, wiggling his bare feet in the cool grass for a moment. Sitting, he dangled them into the stream. He drew in a hissing breath at the sudden cold at first, and then sighed in contentment as water seeped between his painful, blistering toes. He chuckled, remembering. He had bathed here as a child, here in this glade, years ago. But matters of state rarely allowed him to pass by alone any more.

Pulling off his leather hunting jacket, he lay his head upon it, feet still a-dangle. A rare moment of peace. Lulled by the stream’s chatter as it tumbled over stones, he dozed, dragging out the blissful moments until he would have to return to the citadel.

Some time must have passed when he awoke, because he was no longer in full sun. Instead, the shade of the great oak sheltered him, and his feet were numb. Lifting himself painfully onto his elbows, he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and withdrew his feet to massage them back into life. How long had he slumbered? His father would be angry with him, that was for sure. Sighing, he reached for his boots. And then paused, mouth agape.

A few feet away, almost within touching distance, a naked man was bathing, bold and unconcerned. His skin, translucent and milk-pale, glistened as he stretched out his arms to the sky. Black hair cascaded down his back in damp, unruly curls. He laughed, turning, scattering sunlight with the water droplets that spun out from him. A scatter of matted hairs trailed down his body, towards the upturned v of his legs.

Arthur watched, mesmerised.

The man hauled himself easily out of the water, thighs emerging inch by tantalising inch. He spoke a word of command, and hIs hands described complicated circles in the air. Swirls of blue butterflies cascaded around him as if summoned to dance. Gracefully, he twirled with them. The colour of his eyes matched the dancing creatures, the water, the sky, until Arthur felt quite dizzy. Which must surely have been some effect from too much sun. For Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, was inured to such things. Others may be turned giddy by tautly muscled, naked limbs, by a full flesh-pink lip here, or by the precise angle of a cheekbone there, but not him, no.

Arthur swallowed and moistened his lips. He scrambled to his feet, still clutching his boots. And promptly slipped on the riverbank, limbs flailing, entering the water with a mighty splash that didn’t quite disguise the tinkle of merry laughter this drew from the naked madman.

“Do you mind!” Arthur spluttered, indignant, clambering ashore. He scowled, skin pebbling from the shock, and started to pull off his drenched clothing.

“Not at all.” The man laughed again. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen for days! And you do have a very manly aspect, I must say.”

“I should run you through. The sentence for doing magic in Camelot is death.” Setting his mouth into a thin line, Arthur stalked up to the man, and grabbed his wrist, intending to twist it behind his back.

But somehow he found himself flat on his back, staring up at the naked figure of his attacker. Who stood with one bare and very wet foot upon Arthur’s chest in triumph. To add insult to injury, no matter how Arthur struggled, he could not free himself. It was as if invisible bonds held him.

“Foolish man,” said the creature. “I am a naiad, an elemental, and magic is steeped in my bones. I was born with it! And you are the one trespassing on my spring. The creatures of the earth, wind, water and sun were here long before your kind ever came to these shores.” With astonishing speed, the naiad leaped off Arthur’s chest, somersaulting through the air to land with a delicate splash in the pool. When he surfaced, he shook out the shaggy mane of his hair, laughing. “Besides which, if you want to pierce me, you’ll have to catch me first.”

“I could catch you with one hand behind my back if you didn’t keep cheating and using magic,” growled Arthur.

“Fine!” said the creature. He waved his hand, and there was a sharp ripping noise. “Come in! The water is lovely!”

With a gasp, Arthur realised that the remnants of his tattered trousers now lay in a heap upon the muddy ground. He covered his nakedness with his hands, ignoring the peals of laughter that this drew from the naiad.

“Scared I might ravish you, man-child?” said the naiad, with a coquettish flutter of his long lashes that made his eyes seem, if anything, even bluer.

“Of course not.” Adopting an air of nonchalance, Arthur slipped into the cool water and ducked under, groping around.

But the naiad evaded him, slipping from his grip every time he got close. It wasn’t long before Arthur found himself pinned flat on the riverbank for a second time, panting and breathless with laughter. Weighed down by the warm, slippery bulk of the naiad’s naked body. After the heat and sweat of the long march home, his skin felt pleasantly cool against Arthur's chest.

“For a skinny little thing, you’re damn heavy,” Arthur said, biding his time for a moment. But then, without warning, he surged up, and went for a wrestling hold that he’d learned as a child. But the naiad was too fast again, and pinioned him, face down in the mud, with a knee to his back.

“Now, now! For a pretty little thing you’re damn troublesome,” the naiad echoed. “My spring, my rules. I’ll let you up, but you have to play nice. Promise?”

“Fine.” His heart pumping as if he'd just chased down a boar, Arthur sat up, checking his limbs for bruises and finding none. The pungent scent of the waterlilies was making him feel drowsy. “So, what kind of a being--person  are you? Are you fae? My father warned me about creatures like you, sent to lure unsuspecting travellers with your seductions and blandishments.”

“Ridiculous man.” The naiad’s laughter mingled with the song of the stream. “I am no fae. I am an elemental, of course. You can call me Merlin. And as for seductions and blandishments - well, you’re a bit full of yourself aren’t you? Why would I want to seduce a prat like you?” Pouting, Merlin sprang away, and sat on a log on the far side of the stream, tossing tiny stones into the water. Every so often he peeped at Arthur through his lashes, a flash of blue, as if checking that Arthur was still watching.

He was. It was a struggle to tear his gaze away. Sighing, he glared up at the sky, groping around for the right thing to say.

“Have I offended you?” He said at last. “I am sorry. It’s clear that you mean no harm to Camelot. But you need to be more careful. If the King’s men catch you...”

“Them? Catch me?” Merlin made a small noise that eloquently expressed his disdain for Camelot’s knights. “I expect they’re a lot faster than you, then!”

“What?” Stung, Arthur leaped to his feet, hands on hips. ”I am the fastest, the most skillful fighter in all Camelot!”

“Then I have nothing to fear!” Merlin’s features morphed into a brilliant smile, and he clapped his hands. “For you couldn’t catch me with one hand behind my back!”

“I'll bet I could!” Arthur protested.

“All right, clotpoll!” said Merlin, with a grin that made his eyes dance. Clouds of blue butterflies bobbed ecstatically around Arthur’s face. “You’re on! Catch me now!”

But a sudden commotion, not far away, made Arthur whirl round. The trees around them whispered in the breeze, which carried on it the sound of hunting horns.  

“Sire!” One voice was closer than the others - Sir Leon if he wasn’t mistaken. “Sire? Are you there?”

The king's men! If they should find Merlin here... to think that only moments ago he would have gladly led them to him! But now, Arthur's heart clenched at the thought of what they might do.

"Aye!” Arthur called out hastily, scrambling away from the brook. “Fear not, Sir Leon.  All is well.” He struggled into his ripped hunting trousers, still sodden from his earlier soaking. Turning back to Merlin, he added “As for you, you’d better hide--”

But the naiad had vanished. Through the empty glade the brook surged, over flat stones, dark water swirling into the pool of lilies.

“Catch me,” the whispering trees seemed to say. “Catch me soon!”

 _Regret tastes bitter,_ Arthur reflected, with a sharp pang of loss.

“Sire! At last, where have you been?” Leon hove into view, his Camelot armour glinting in the hot sunlight. “Your father has sent out a search party!”

“I--I stopped to bathe, and lost track of time, that’s all.” With a frown, heart still racing, Arthur sat on a rock to pull on his boots.

“I can see that.” Motioning with his head, Leon grinned. “Not sure that particular fashion will catch on, though!”

“What?” Puzzled, Arthur reached up to touch his hair, still matted from his dip, and plucked from it a waterlily that he found there. He felt his face pinking a little. “Oh! That!” He shrugged, and tucked it into his shirt, next to his breast. “For good luck,” he added, in answer to Leon’s inquiring eyebrow.

Together, he and Sir Leon strode off towards the rest of the king’s search party.

The faint gurgle of the stream, on the edge of hearing, was like an echo of faraway laughter. But if Arthur strained his ears, he fancied he could just about make out the word “clotpoll”, dying away on the breeze.

The waterlily felt warm against his chest. Smiling, he leaped upon Hengroen’s back and cantered back to Camelot.

And afterwards, when he carefully placed the flower onto a bowl of fresh water in his room, it did not fade. Not even days, weeks later. Instead, its scent caressed him as he slept, like a promise.

“Soon,” he murmured into his pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, I'm not getting paid. Unbeta-ed, sorry!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: Naiad - the water nymph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7924723) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)




End file.
